There was a girl. Her real name is of no import, so we shall call her Jane.
Jane
was an extraordinarily ordinary girl. This wouldn't have been a problem
if the word "ordinary" hadn't taken on an extraordinary meaning. The
word now stood for all that a person shouldn't be, in this day and age
of extraordinariness. Everyone was a star in his or her own way,
everyone the owner of a little badge with the words "You are unique!"
printed on it, commonly accompanied by a picture of a star. Everyone
believed in their own uniqueness.
Except for Jane. For
no one could so openly lie, and tell her she was special, so unspecial
was she. The only thing remarkable about her was her plainness, and of
course nobody had the heart to tell her this.
Jane fell
in love a number of times, primarily in her youth. Falling in love got
increasingly harder as she got older. When she was young there was
plenty to love. The soft scent of flowers. The majesty of a mountain.
Gentle rain on a sleepy afternoon. The rainbow after the rain.
But
her grown-up mind dissects all these. Merely a somewhat pretty effect
caused by the diffraction of light through water. The result of plate
tectonics. Life had ground her down, her love and her enthusiasm for
life.
There were times when Jane felt acutely lonely.
Even more than usual. The onset of which could have been caused by any
number of things, say, a good movie. A love song. A book. Sunset. In
this heightened state of loneliness, a certain despair would begin to
gnaw at her. She felt that something had to be done.
Cue
the boys. Lonely boys, to be sure. These never quite worked out though,
despite all her earnest efforts. But none of them ever truly loved her.
And if she were to be perfectly honest, she would admit that the
converse was true too.
But sometimes it felt so real.
Like there was so much more to be had. With some of them, she felt as if
she could almost be happy. Always, she thought: I am in love! only to
find out that no, she wasn't, after all.
And she discovered a truth: An illusion of love is created when two lonely people, each desperate to fall in love, meet.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
On Happiness.
Do I believe in the promise of happiness? I do. Do you too? I hope you do.
But there is something flawed with the whole concept of happiness, insofar as we'll never be able to answer the most pertinent question of all. Am I truly happy?
How do we know we can't be happier? How do we know that what we've got is as good as it gets? That we should (if ever) stop in our pursuit of happiness? And to finally look at ourselves and sigh contentedly, saying, "This then, is true happiness."
The problem is that happiness is an entirely arbitrary emotion. There is no tipping point (or at least not that I've experienced) where you suddenly realize, I am Happy. Maybe you're always cheating yourself when you think that, for surely you can be happier, somehow, no?
How do you know you've not made that one fatal mistake, one bad decision, previously, that has turned your life all awry? And that true 100% happiness is now forevermore barred to you. If you'd gone to a different school.. Not said that one word to that one person.. Not decided to cross the road at that moment.. Decided to tarry for another 5 minutes.. Who knows? The smallest things could have made the world of difference to you. Maybe you were 5 minutes away from meeting your 100% lover, but you decided on a change of shoes at the last moment. (I could be entirely wrong in equating true love to happiness, but I certainly do believe in that ideal. I digress)
But we can choose to be content. I believe contentment is more of an attitude you can choose to adopt. Happiness, though, is a different animal altogether. I believe happiness to be a live thing. Wild and tempestuous, it comes in waves, and sweeps you off your feet on tides of joy. Other times, it is calm, soothing, and envelops you and you are allowed to drift off and away into your dream of dreams. Happiness is a gift. The most excruciating gift you can ever hope to receive. And thus the most precious.
But there are those who have spent their lives searching for happiness. By spent, I mean just that. Some of them might have found it, but not realized it. And so they carry on with their searching, never knowing that they'd left happiness behind, inexorably traveling further and further away into that land called Morose. And some of them never ever find it, for any of a myriad reasons. Destiny/Fate (whatever the Vagaries decide to call themselves right now) or sheer luck, an entire life of misfortune and missteps. Where maybe that ha'step to the right could have brought him face to face with true happiness, a Happily Ever After waiting to happen.
Hmm. I like that. That out there somewhere, a Happily Ever After patiently awaits our discovery, whenceupon we can make up our Once Upon a Times.
But there is something flawed with the whole concept of happiness, insofar as we'll never be able to answer the most pertinent question of all. Am I truly happy?
How do we know we can't be happier? How do we know that what we've got is as good as it gets? That we should (if ever) stop in our pursuit of happiness? And to finally look at ourselves and sigh contentedly, saying, "This then, is true happiness."
The problem is that happiness is an entirely arbitrary emotion. There is no tipping point (or at least not that I've experienced) where you suddenly realize, I am Happy. Maybe you're always cheating yourself when you think that, for surely you can be happier, somehow, no?
How do you know you've not made that one fatal mistake, one bad decision, previously, that has turned your life all awry? And that true 100% happiness is now forevermore barred to you. If you'd gone to a different school.. Not said that one word to that one person.. Not decided to cross the road at that moment.. Decided to tarry for another 5 minutes.. Who knows? The smallest things could have made the world of difference to you. Maybe you were 5 minutes away from meeting your 100% lover, but you decided on a change of shoes at the last moment. (I could be entirely wrong in equating true love to happiness, but I certainly do believe in that ideal. I digress)
But we can choose to be content. I believe contentment is more of an attitude you can choose to adopt. Happiness, though, is a different animal altogether. I believe happiness to be a live thing. Wild and tempestuous, it comes in waves, and sweeps you off your feet on tides of joy. Other times, it is calm, soothing, and envelops you and you are allowed to drift off and away into your dream of dreams. Happiness is a gift. The most excruciating gift you can ever hope to receive. And thus the most precious.
But there are those who have spent their lives searching for happiness. By spent, I mean just that. Some of them might have found it, but not realized it. And so they carry on with their searching, never knowing that they'd left happiness behind, inexorably traveling further and further away into that land called Morose. And some of them never ever find it, for any of a myriad reasons. Destiny/Fate (whatever the Vagaries decide to call themselves right now) or sheer luck, an entire life of misfortune and missteps. Where maybe that ha'step to the right could have brought him face to face with true happiness, a Happily Ever After waiting to happen.
Hmm. I like that. That out there somewhere, a Happily Ever After patiently awaits our discovery, whenceupon we can make up our Once Upon a Times.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Words.
What are words? Words are cheap and tears flow freely. They come easy.
Words are however you want them to be (except when, under the most
beautiful circumstance, words do not suffice) and you can paint any
picture you want with them. Any portrayal whatsoever you wished.
Artificial. What then, the value of words? A sophisticated branch in the
development of communication and language (which includes body language
and the like.) Words have the ability to mean nothing at all.
Yeah. And I realize that all I am, is full of words. I build myself up on words and most of the things I do are centered around words. But What Are Words indeed? Maybe all I'm doing is absolutely meaningless. I've built myself on a house of cards. A precipitous edifice. And one day it will all come tumbling down. That's how I feel sometimes.
Yeah. And I realize that all I am, is full of words. I build myself up on words and most of the things I do are centered around words. But What Are Words indeed? Maybe all I'm doing is absolutely meaningless. I've built myself on a house of cards. A precipitous edifice. And one day it will all come tumbling down. That's how I feel sometimes.
Of A Mediocre Dreamer; Dreams
Skyglow. The dreams of a million people illuminating the nightsky.
Skyglow. The dreams of a million people exposed; caught like deer in headlights.
Maybe if we keep very still and remain perfectly silent, we will be able to hear the plaintive cries of our dead and dying dreams, all about us. Cut down by someone else, or afflicted of the poison that is reality, or left to slowly die by the wayside of our minds. An ode to the dreams we have left behind/outgrown/been forced to abandon/forgotten.
Skyglow. The dreams of a million people exposed; caught like deer in headlights.
Maybe if we keep very still and remain perfectly silent, we will be able to hear the plaintive cries of our dead and dying dreams, all about us. Cut down by someone else, or afflicted of the poison that is reality, or left to slowly die by the wayside of our minds. An ode to the dreams we have left behind/outgrown/been forced to abandon/forgotten.
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